


Strings

by TemperamentalTerpsichorean



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 90s Fashion Is A Thing, Awkward silences make Draco uncomfortable, BAMF Ginny Weasley, Bulimia, Draco Malfoy is a Good Friend, Everyone deals in their own ways, F/M, Forced Partnership, Group Therapy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has a Saving People Thing, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Insert School Dance Trope Here, Mental Health Issues, No One Is Okay, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Rating may change with plot, Recovery, Slow Burn, Slytherins stick together, Tags May Change, Twenty questions, depictions of panic attacks and ptsd, discussion of torture and abuse, past trauma, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-01-04 16:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TemperamentalTerpsichorean/pseuds/TemperamentalTerpsichorean
Summary: We all deal with things in our own ways. Some move on with their lives. Some are just barely hanging on by a string. All is not well.---Dramione EWE. Updates Sundays.





	1. All is not well.

  It was September 1st and autumn was just beginning to grace the majestic Scottish countryside. A scarlet steam engine with its matching carriages chugged through the green of the hills and fields, slowly making its way to the Highlands and their destination.

  Hermione couldn’t believe she was going back.

  The war was barely over, a mere five months ago. Her and Ron had tried, but he and Harry both opted to go through Auror training and she couldn’t find it in herself to follow them...to follow him. They parted ways amicably enough; Ron may have the emotional range of a teaspoon, but he understood that they were in two different places, and that a relationship would probably never work out very long. He’d only ever wanted her to be happy, and the bitter pill of happiness possibly not meaning being with him was something he swallowed with more maturity than she’d expected of him.

  So she’d chosen to attend the optional eighth year being provided at Hogwarts. Well, optional for her and a few others; it wasn’t optional for anyone who’d been on the other side of things and she’d seen some sullen Slytherin faces on the platform alone that morning. She wasn’t alright, probably would never be fully alright, but she just wanted the semblance of normalcy before she had to face the added stress of adulthood and life as the third member of the Golden Trio. She’d not returned by herself though, as Ginny had boarded the train with her after tearful goodbyes to Harry and her family.

  McGonagall had allowed her to retain her former Prefect status, and she determined from the time the train began to leave the platform to throw herself into her studies and her responsibilities. Searching out the prefect’s carriage, her head throbbed at the laughter and frivolity she met at every turn. It set her teeth on edge that people could ever be happy after what they’d all lived through. Near the middle of the train she’d found the first compartment, the curtains shut and door closed. She raised her hand to knock, only for the compartment to slide open before she could.

  She nearly vomited on her shoes when she saw who it was.

  “It’s only Granger,” his voice drawled, stepping aside to allow her in. She swallowed thickly, desperately trying to quell the churning in her stomach as a familiar blonde head turned away from her into the compartment. She stood still as stone while a pale hand with spidery fingers moved to shove Parkinson’s polished black leather shoes off his chair, and nearly dropped her cat carrier until she broke her gaze away to a friendly smile from Padma Patil.

  “How’d’ya do, Granger,” said Ernie Macmillan. He sat across from his fellow Hufflepuff Hannah, who patted the empty space next to her and Padma invitingly. “Please do sit.”

  Clenching her jaw, she walked in. A flick of her wand levitated Crookshanks and her trunk into the luggage rack, and she hesitantly took her place. The seat across from her remained empty; she didn’t know who had been appointed when Ron had turned down the offer to return.

  Trying her best not to look towards the door, towards _him_ , she instead glanced up at the luggage rack above her. One was decorated with gilded fittings, stamped with Parkinson’s monogram. Another was honey leather with black finishes. Yet another had a leather strap for attaching an owl, who sat in a covered cage next to it. Puzzlingly, there was a black leather guitar case as well. She wondered who of the returning prefects could possibly be the owner, before a sharp rapping on the compartment door broke her concentration.

  “The final member of our group, no doubt,” Macmillan murmured. “Malfoy, get the door if you please.”

  The newcomer turned out to be Neville, who briefly looked taken aback before pushing past everyone and plopping down in front of Hermione. Instead of a quip or nasty bit of snark, Malfoy merely shut the door again and returned to his seat, fiddling with the string of the curtains and looking bored. Hermione felt a wash of thankfulness at Neville being her Gryffindor partner and tried to steady her breathing.

  “Alright there, Hermione?”

  Well clearly she wasn’t doing a good enough job, if even Neville was concerned and less perturbed than she. Focus.

  She cracked a smile she knew didn’t reach her eyes, and nodded. “I’m fine, Neville.”

  Ernie, as it turned out, was to share Head Boy privileges with his seventh year counterpart, as was Padma with hers. As he boasted of this fact, Hermione firmly tamped down the screaming under her skin and barely listened to Padma explaining to the rest of them their duties. She could feel the glances at her, Neville, and the two Slytherins in the compartment and scratched at the collar of her robes. She couldn’t look anywhere but at her shaking hands in her lap.

* * *

 

  After an eternity, the train finally pulled into the station at Hogsmede, and Hermione could have wept at the sound she heard on the platform.

_“Firs’ years! Firs’ years here now!”_

  She was back. But all was not well.


	2. She closed her eyes.

 She could hear the other prefects in the carriage rummage for their belongings, but she let herself sit in the darkness of her closed eyes all the same. There was no immediate rush to leave the confines of the train. She heard Ernie and Padma leave first, needing to herd the elder students towards the thestrals. She sat in place for almost five blessed minutes before she heard the first scream.

 She flew out of the train, wand in hand, her belongings forgotten. Scanning the crowd, her eyes finally landed on what the matter was. A second year was crumpled on the ground, a few other scattered elder students in the same boat. Still others were white as a sheet and shaking, staring in the same direction. One or two were wailing, their fingers pointing.

 The thestrals merely tossed their heads, snorting and stomping their feet in between the shafts of their carriages.

 Neville puffed up beside her, wand out and levitating their trunks behind him. “I’d forgotten about the bloody thestrals. I guess everyone who’d been here then can see them now.”

 She nodded, swallowing back black bile. She felt Neville pat her shoulder briefly, before setting her trunk and his over with the other luggage and going to join the few who were picking up their fellow students. She still had her wand out, and she could almost feel the panic coursing in her veins.

 “Blimey Hermione, is tha’ you?”

 Whipping around she found Hagrid towering over her, a look of warm concern on his grizzled face. She was dimly aware that she still had her wand raised, and she lowered it to hang limply at her side. Choking, she finally found words. “It’s...good to see you Hagrid.”

 His beetle-black eyes glistened a little and she felt herself wrap her arms as far as she could around his bulk. A hand the size of a skillet patted her back. “I know. ‘Spect ev’ryone at the  battle weren’t ‘spectin’ ter see that firs’ thin’ off the train.”

 He tilted her head gently by the chin to look up at him. “Best get yerself on them carriages now. You’ll make it through. ‘Sokay not ter be okay.”

 Neville, Ginny, and Luna had saved the carriage for her, and as she stepped in the thestrals took off. Ginny still looked like she’d been crying, and Luna was quietly picking at fuzz on her school waistcoat and avoiding everyone’s eyes.

 Hermione was staring without seeing out the window, until the trees swept aside and she bit back a gasp.

 It wasn’t the same Hogwarts she remembered.

 She could see where chunks had been missing and replaced, where bits had been added on. In the aftermath of the battle she didn’t think about the damage, but the castle looked altogether the same and yet completely alien.

 Ginny touched her shoulder, her face gray. “I know.”

* * *

 

  The entrance hall was still the same, though she noticed that some of the suits of armor were missing pieces. One had a gauntlet missing, another a dented breastplate; still another was missing its helmet entirely. She numbly followed the stream of somber and silent students into the Great Hall which no longer was filled with crumbling stone, blood, and the bodies of the dead and dying. She sucked in a breath to see things as they ever were; floating candles, starry ceiling, the five long trestle tables all were untouched like there’d never been a war ward on the flagstones. Trembling, she made her way to the Gryffindor table and sat on one of the benches. The other eighth and seventh years followed her, some with silent tears on their cheeks.

 Soon enough the Sorting commenced; the line of first years was so short and Hermione felt a lump in her throat and bile in her gut at the mere fifty students who marched up the aisle. Her year had been small, but she never imagined that the War ravaged the population so much. If she didn’t know that there were plenty of couples like Bill and Fleur who had thrown caution to the wind in favor of “only live once”, she knew that the wizarding world in Britain would probably never recover and die out.

 Speak of the devil, Bill came into view bearing the Sorting Hat as the tiny first years shuffled nervously. He flashed a smile at his gaping sister and Hermione, and set the Hat onto its stool before backing away. Hermione barely heard the song this year (something about houses being houses but they’re all from Hogwarts) over her brain going miles a minute trying to compute the sight of Bill in front of them, scarred face grinning and foot tapping along to the tune of the song. Eventually, the Hat stopped flapping from the torn seam and Bill stepped forward again, going down the list.

 “Allen, Eibhlin.”

A tiny dark-haired girl with beautifully delicate features and wide brown eyes stepped forward, and Hermione still was trying to figure out why Bill was there as the line dwindled. Miss Allen turned out to be a Hatstall but eventually was sorted into Ravenclaw. About ten students went to Gryffindor, another fifteen to Hufflepuff, fifteen to Ravenclaw, and the remainder to Slytherin. She was shocked to hear that no one booed or hissed at the young Slytherins, though a few were grimacing at their plates. As the last child (Yardley, Jonas) skittered off to Ravenclaw Bill sat down at the long teacher’s table between Professors Sinestra and Flitwick and nodded to Mcgonagall.

 Minerva Mcgonagall was regal as ever despite being in her sixties. Gazing down at the students Hermione noticed that the Headmistress’ eyes were glassy with restrained emotion.

 “To our newest students, I bid you welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I hope you grow to find it your home in the next seven years of your academic career. To returning students, I welcome you home and hope that after the horrors of war we can unite together as one school.”

 She turned to the teacher’s table. “Some teachers many of you remember. We have Filius Flitwick who has agreed to return as our Charms, Choir, and Orchestra teacher. Rubeus Hagrid has returned as Care of Magical Creatures professor. Professors Vector, Sinestra, Sprout, Binns, Rakepick, Babbling, Trelawney, and Firenze have also returned. Professor Slughorn, our Potions Master, has agreed to a single year while we seek a replacement.”

 Polite applause sounded for the returning professors, Slughorn waving jovially at the crowd. Hermione felt her stomach churn as the pieces fell into place.

 “We also have some new faces. William Weasley has agreed to join our staff as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor after an illustrious career as a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts Bank.”

 Bill smiled as Gryffindor cheered, his little sister’s whistle shrill over the noise. Hermione sighed in relief and clapped politely.

 “As well, Art and Muggle Art are on offer once again. We’ve thus added Caroline Dumas of Ilvermorny as professor. Alongside her is esteemed Music and Muggle Music master Coleen Sheeran, and I’m honored to add Penelope Clearwater as my replacement for Transfiguration and Katya Gregorovich of Durmstrang Institute as our new Apparition professor.”

 More polite clapping ensued, and Ravenclaw cheered to see Penelope waving towards them. Mcgonagall raised her arms for silence.

 “For those interested, our new Alchemy professor will be the brilliant Naomi Dene, a graduate of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Finally, I am pleased to introduce a dear friend as the new Muggle Studies Professor: Andromeda Tonks. She will be commuting to the castle thrice weekly for classes and office hours.”

 Hermione gasped and then cheered to see Andy waving from her place at the table, winking at her and the other DA members who had returned. With Andromeda as a teacher Hermione's heart leapt in joy that Muggle Studies would have a proper professor, one who could replace poor Charity Burbage, rest her soul.

 Mcgonagall waited for things to settle down, and spoke. “Finally, our caretaker Argus Filch reminds students that there is a list of forbidden objects on the door of his office, and they will be confiscated if seen. As well, he reminds you that the Forbidden Forest is indeed forbidden to students, though Eighth Year students are allowed minimal contact along the outer edges due to their being of age. Curfew begins at eight PM for all students save Eighth Years and Prefects, who are allowed to be out of their Common Rooms until nine PM. This is again due to the Eighth Year students being of age.”

 She then fixed her gaze squarely on the Eighth Years. “Do not make me regret my kindness. You will all be meeting with me after the Feast for additional instructions about classes and living arrangements.”

 With that, she sat and the golden plates filled.

* * *

 As the feast ended and people filtered out, the seventh year prefects filtered through and began leading students to the dorms. Professor Sinestra was by the door of the Great Hall, pulling eighth year students aside as they passed. Hermione, who had eaten little, said her goodbyes to Ginny and went over. Sinestra pointed her towards a door off to the side, and she walked in.

 Immediately to her right stood Padma and Parvati Patil, in deep conversation with Lisa Turpin, Sue Li, and Hannah Abbott. A little further in she saw Ernie pouting to Zacharias Smith, Terry Boot, and Anthony Goldstein. In the back Susan Bones chatted absently to Michael Corner. Slightly apart from Michael and Susan was Daphne Greengrass, who was hugging herself and staring at nothing. To her left stood her fellow Gryffindors Dean, Seamus, and Neville, and she moved to stand with them. She peeked into the far left, and saw a thoroughly miserable Pansy Parkinson standing with the chastened faces of Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Professor Sinestra cleared her throat, and Hermione felt hers go dry.

 Malfoy made a beeline for his fellow Slytherins, face unreadable. Sinestra kept the door open for Professor Mcgonagall, who swept in and looked upon them sternly.

 “All of you, I want this year to be clean and honorable. I won’t tolerate fisticuffs or petty drama. You will all be on your best behavior and you will foster the unity among your houses that should have been there from the beginning.” She shook back her sleeves. “Am I understood?”

 A few of them murmured their assent and some stared at the ground in guilt.

 “Now then, as adults I am trusting you with later curfews and some more privileges. For instance, you do not need permission to go to Hogsmeade and you are not barred from butterbeer in the dorms. You however are still not allowed stronger spirits.”

 She swept her gaze across them all. “You also will all be sharing a common room and will be placed in dormitories separate from your houses.”

 Dean and Seamus cried out in anger, as did Ernie and Zacharias. A few others had their mouths open in shock and outrage. The Slytherins and Neville looked green. Hermione choked on her bone-dry throat but was otherwise silent. Padma and Parvati clung to each other, but otherwise took Hermione’s lead in silence.

  _How was she going to cope without Ginny there?_

 Mcgonagall wasn’t having it. “SILENCE. You WILL share a common room and you will all like it! I have had just about enough fighting in this school and it would do all of you good to learn to be functioning adults instead of divisive children!”

 They all went quiet at that, the ones who had cried out looking suitably humbled. Minerva tucked a nonexistent errant hair behind her ear and continued.

 “Now, follow me. I’ll lead you to your dormitory block.”

 She took them all to third floor, and watched as she tapped the fifth suit of armor from the right with her wand. The whole suit shuddered, and then stood at attention. “Password?”

 “ _Per viribus unitatem._ ”

 The suit saluted, then stepped aside and revealed a door. She grasped the handle, and then beckoned them enter.

 The common room seemed decorated more in textures than in colors. Rugs ranging from gorgeous Turkish and Prussian tapestries to Apache and Navajo woolen blankets crisscrossed the floors and covered the smooth flagstones. A collection of couches and chairs, all in various earth tones and upholstered with anything from fine Scottish tweed to rich silk brocade and made from good dark wood were scattered about the room, and at the left end sat an enormous red brick fireplace with a deep mahogany mantel and a raging hardwood fire. Tapestries of the grounds and the Scottish Highlands took the texture up the walls, which were lined with wood bookcases along the back wall with two cedar and wrought-iron doors which must lead to the dorms. Here and there hung wicker woven baskets containing bromeliads, snake plants, Golden Pothos, and spider plants. Two enormous peace lilies flanked the hearth. Glazed embrasures took the place of windows and allowed little light to flow in, but gas lamps and the fire gave the room a warm and inviting feeling. The corner immediately to the left had two doors, no doubt the bathrooms for the entire eighth year class. A large wicker basket of fluffy Turkish towels sat between the two doors.

 Mcgonagall shut the door behind them all, and faced them down. “Rooms are divided into women and men, though you are not barred from sharing amongst yourselves. You’re all adults, and I assume that you deserve to be treated as such. Each room can be Silenced for privacy, just be sure to turn the lock in the door to activate it. The rooms are suites, so you will have an adjoining door with a fellow student. The rooms are given in alphabetical order, and some of you will be paired up with someone from another house. You are free to all negotiate ground rules among yourselves.”

 She nodded. “I’ll be retiring to my own rooms now. Do not fight among each other; I suggest instead going to bed and making the most of things.”

 When she left them, they all looked amongst each other warily. Hermione wasn’t outraged, but she was very aware that Malfoy would be in the same common room with her all year, and she swallowed around her constricted throat before Ernie and Padma spoke up.

 “The Headmistress has a point,” said Ernie. “As much as I don’t like it, we are examples for the rest of the school and we should try to be civil if not friendly.”

 “She’s also right in that we should go to bed,” said Padma. “We have classes starting tomorrow and I think we’ll all feel a lot less awful by getting some sleep.”

 Mechanically Hermione nodded, and she entered the women’s dorms on the right. A hall lined with doors appeared, and she walked past doors marked Abbott and Bones before appearing before two doors marked Greengrass and Granger. Numbly, she opened her door and caught Crookshanks as he leapt into her arms.

 She listened to the other girls slowly make their ways into their rooms, doors shutting and quite a few locks clicking before blessed silence. She laid fully-clothed on her bed, stroking Crookshanks, as the minutes ticked past and the dorm went quiet.

 As everything went silent and she was certain that people were asleep she finally rose up and started getting into her fluffy flannel pyjamas and some woolen socks. She was fastening the string around her waist for her bottoms when she heard a faint arpeggio of notes, an unmistakable sound of guitar strings playing in the air.

 She almost went to open the door, but then thought better of it and went to her bed as the last notes faded. As she snuggled down under the coverlet and eiderdown, she heard a rich Spanish tune begin to play, and she allowed the mystery guitarist to lull her to a dreamless sleep. It was the first time she'd slept without dreams in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ E. Granados - Spanish Dance No. 2: Oriental, classical guitar arrangement (LAGA on Youtube)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=310r2AOr0Lw)
> 
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> 
> I'm not sure if I'm happy with this chapter. However, it does feature necessary information and serves as a bridge to beginning the plot. Many thanks to lazymuse21, delirium1995, and kkaylawrites for the kudos!


	3. She woke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to BelleCat10, TheSunTheStarsThePizza, and HarukoHeiwajima for their kudos and extra thanks to HarukoHeiwajima for her comment! I'm an awkward panda and while I love comments I'm HORRIBLE at responding right away if at all. So like if you comment and I don't say anything it's nothing personal I'm just bad at talking to people.
> 
> I actually do have very rough plans for the plot, and I'm doing planning when I'm not working on the writing. I update as I finish chapters, which means some chapters will be uploaded once a week and some chapters will come after a month. We’ve had a busy few weeks but I hope to update more frequently now that things have slowed down a bit. Going to also be posting a new fanfic around chapter 4 or so, I want to get a few chapters ahead before I put it out in the world.
> 
> Warning: Mention of bulimia in this chapter. It’s a plot point for Hermione and her relationship with the Slytherins going forward. Tags have been changed to reflect that and anytime a chapter mentions it I will be sure to put a warning at the beginning. I will try my best to be respectful of the subject, as I’ve had friends and loved ones in the past struggle in one way or another with an eating disorder.

 Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so well. Crookshanks grumbled at her as she stretched and nudged him from his spot next to her pillow, and she actually felt her lips curl up in a genuine smile as she scratched his head and got out of bed.

 Having her own room was nice; she’d grown up an only child and so sharing a dormitory had always felt a little invasive and claustrophobic to her. Grabbing her school robes and beaded bag, she checked her wristwatch and saw it was about six in the morning. She flicked her favorite pink flannel dressing gown with the frolicking otters on it off the hook by her bed; maybe she’d be able to get a bath in.

 Stepping quietly out her door and into the womens’ hall, she padded her way to the common room in her slippers and dressing gown, running through Arithmancy problems in her head. She still hadn’t totally finished blocking out her schedule in her head, but she figured at breakfast she could review the timetables and come to a final decision then. It wasn’t like she didn’t buy every textbook with her Order of Merlin money to devour over the summer anyway…

 She paused at the bathroom door when she heard a horrid retching sound. Pressing her ear to the door, she winced as she heard liquid splatter into a toilet, and the sound of spitting. Gently opening the door, she padded inside and looked about.

 Three toilet stalls were in a row, with three shower stalls on the perpendicular wall. Across from the showers were three sinks with mirrors, and the sound of retching echoed off the tile and stone walls. Tiptoeing further in, she stubbed her toe hard on a wastebin next to the door. The sound echoed and the retching stopped.

 “Who’s there?”

 Hermione cursed in her head before registering the familiar voice. “...Greengrass?”

 A flush rattled through the air, and the middle stall swung open to reveal the blonde and blue-eyed witch adjusting her Slytherin-green dressing gown in irritation and shame.

 “What are you doing here,” she sneered, pulling the ribbon holding her hair back and allowing the golden strands to tumble down to her shoulders. Hermione snorted.

 “I should ask the same. Are you sick?”

 “It’s none of your concern, Muggle-born. I’m fine,” she snapped, grabbing a wicker basket from a hook by the farthest shower from the door and sweeping over to the sinks to splash the sheen of sweat from her face.

 Hermione took in the shamefaced eyes, the pallor, and the evasive attitude, and put the pieces together. “You were purging, weren’t you?”

 It wasn’t really a question, but it hung in the air between them. Daphne stared into the basin, the water running and gurgling down the drain. They sat that way for what seemed an eternity. Blue eyes avoided hazel eyes, fixing themselves on running water and porcelain.

 “You don’t get to judge me.”

 It was said so quietly that Hermione almost missed it. She put her things down on the ground and chanced a step closer. “I’m not. I’d like to understand though.”

 “Why would you care? Little Miss Perfect, swot extraordinaire and Muggle-born darling of Britain. What do you give a shit about a Pureblood princess and her petty issues?”

 Hermione chanced another step. “Yes, I suppose it looks that way doesn’t it? Despite what I’m sure is popular opinion, I care when someone is starving herself by throwing up before breakfast in the ladies’ bathroom.”

 Daphne looked up then. “You don’t have any kind of pressure on you though. Everyone loves you. Even your own parents came back to England after the war and adored you as you were.”

 Her eyes twinkled with unshed tears, despite the resolute mask on her face. “No one judges you by your looks. You have brains to get by.”

 Daphne took her things and pushed past Hermione, and left her to solitude and echoes of running water as the sink still poured.

* * *

 Once she finished showering and dressing, more people had woken and left the dorm, and it was eight in the morning. She was entering the Great Hall when she noticed Daphne wasn’t there, and as she sat beside Ginny and Neville at the Gryffindor table, she hoped fervently that the other witch was okay.

 “So you get your own dormatory, just all of you eighth years?” Ginny crunched her toast moodily. “Bet that’s been a right bloodbath.”

 “It’s not too horrible so far,” Neville stated, passing Hermione the croissants and a pot of strawberry jam. She picked one and cut it in half, but didn’t put the jam on or eat it yet. “It’s weird being around the Slytherins, but considering they haven’t poisoned us all yet I guess just keeping an eye on them is as much as we need do.”

 “‘Mione, are you okay?” Ginny passed her a cup of coffee, three lumps and a splash of milk like she liked it. “You’re awful quiet.”

 She opened her mouth to reply, but got cut off when the mail arrived. Owls swooped to their owners, dropping boxes and envelopes everywhere. A bedraggled owl was supported by a puff of feathers, and Hermione changed the subject quickly.

 “Isn’t that Errol and Pig?”

 Ginny looked, and a smile wrapped her face. Having thoroughly distracted the redhead and Neville both, Hermione returned to her croissant and tried not to think about a missing blonde witch in silver and green.

* * *

 By the time Bill came over, Ginny had opened her letters from her mother and Harry and passed Ron and Harry’s letters to Hermione. He smiled kindly at his sister, the scars on his face doing nothing to distract from how handsome he still was.

 “Sufficiently coddled by Mum eh? Here’s your timetables then. Sorry to burst your bubble, sis.”

 Ginny scowled at the parchment while Bill turned to Neville and Hermione. “Glad to see you pursuing your Herbology mastery, Longbottom. Ron says you’re a regular green-fingers.”

 “I’m alright,” Neville replied with red ears, as Hermione took another glance at the timetables and got Bill’s attention. 

 “Are Alchemy and Magical Theory full,” she queried, and Bill shook his head.

 “Nah, not many students this year. Barely enough to justify having them on this year. You wanting to join?”

 Hermione nodded. “Might as well. This way I get two half days to study, while still giving me a full schedule.”

 He nudged her playfully. “Swot. And I thought Percy was bad.”

 She shoved his shoulder and he laughed, passing her the finished timetable. “As you do, Hermione. See you Thursday.”

* * *

 Ancient Runes was first on the docket, and she settled in ten minutes early and laid out her materials. Three freshly-sharpened quills, laid out one after the other beside a ten-inch roll of parchment. Inkwell with her favorite blue ink at the one o’clock position, above her well-worn Ancient Runes textbook. She’d just put her blotter beneath her quills on the desk when she heard someone walk in.

 She felt her blood rushing in her ears. Her collar chafed and she felt the urge to scratch it. Everything was hot, then cold. Her mouth was dry and she fought to keep her breath steady as Draco Malfoy simply walked past her and took a seat in the middle row behind her.

 Tamping down the part of her brain that was gibbering and screaming on the floor, she squared her shoulders as Professor Vector entered with the rest of the class and began lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my longest chapter but still okay. I do have a plan, I promise. Hopefully I’ll have the next chapter out Sunday or Monday, I honestly didn’t plan to take this long to update.


	4. This is a travesty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mrssherrange and dxmichelle for the kudos! Slight changes were made to the last chapter, to better reflect the schedule I’ve drawn up for Hermione. For those wondering how the Silencing Charms work in the dorms, my idea is you can hear what’s going on in other rooms and the hall through your locked door, but no one can hear a locked room. It makes it convenient to hear if someone is coming to your room when it’s locked and allows you to hear knocking, which is more suitable for a school dorm setting than a full Silencing Charm.
> 
> I spend a good 95% of the time when I read and write fanfiction yelling at the characters. You guys don’t know how often you’ll hear me just saying “BLAISE” or “Theo no” or “Pansy why this” or “Draco Lucius Malfoy you idiot” in my exasperated mom-voice while reading and writing. Being a Slytherin I am constantly amazed by the stupidity of my fellow house members. But sometimes they show true strength of character, and this chapter is one of those times. It's short but helps establish Draco's character going forward.
> 
> Tiny edit to the rating, due to swearing. I have another Dramione in the works, but it's taking longer than I thought to get past the first chapter so I'll get that going once I finish Chapter Five in this fic and get two chapters in on that one.

 He was in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Potions with her.

 As she sat down in Alchemy she swallowed a lump in her throat and determined she would try not to completely lose her mind if he was in Alchemy with her. She would not scream. Again she set out her three quills, parchment, textbook, inkwell, and blotter on her desk, arranged just so. She was ten minutes early, and she reread the first chapter of the book for the fifth time to make sure she was prepared for the class.

 The room slowly filled as the start of class crept closer and closer. She twirled a quill in her fingers, brow furrowed over Elric’s Law of Equivalent Exchange when she heard sharp, precise steps approaching the room. She looked up to see Professor Dene arrive, Malfoy hot on her heels and slipping in before the professor could shut the door.

 Hermione’s head thudded into her parchment with finality as class began.

 “ _Goedemorgen, studenten._ I am Professor Dene, and I will be your guide through the sophisticated and challenging art of Alchemy.” Her English was excellent, if accented slightly. Hermione vaguely noticed a distinct blending of the _th-_ in her words to a softer _tuh_ noise, and lifted her head.

 Professor Dene wasn’t at all what she’d expected a teacher to look like. Her round cherubic face was framed by dirty-blonde waves and her eyes were a clear and honest cornflower-blue. Her skin was like skimmed milk and her smile at her students was free and kind. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty, and the thought puzzled Hermione.

 “I see some confused faces,” the professor laughed, her eyes sparkling. “It is customary for a master to spend an additional four years in apprenticeship or schooling in Britain, as I understand. It is not so in the continent; we have a very specialised schooling system from the start of your fourth year geared towards students’ aptitudes, and so I spent only two years getting my mastery.”

 She turned to the board and began drawing a many-layered fractal circle on the board. Next to it she wrote out Elric’s Law of Equivalent Exchange and a list labelling the various components of the circle, and class began.

 It soon became apparent that Professor Dene truly was a master of her art. Scribbling notes frantically Hermione was enraptured by the poetic and informative way the professor described Alchemy, the way her words wove a tapestry of beauty around the different disciplines and studies that go into the study of Alchemy.

 Too soon it was finished. Dene vanished the words on the chalkboard and dismissed them all with a smile and magnanimous wave. Seventh years began filing out, a gentle murmur echoing through the air as possessions were collected and discussion rehashing the lesson started up.

 As she picked up her bag and turned to the aisle to leave she ran right into someone, sending her book and their papers flying. Most of the class had left and there was no one else to witness how the bottom of her stomach dropped out and the little sobbing gasp that rocked through her body when she looked up and saw Draco Malfoy rubbing his chest and wheezing.

 “Merlin, Granger. You just as blind as Potter and just forget your glasses?”

 Hermione could feel her lungs burning for air, and she gaped at the blonde as he began picking up his papers.

 “No it’s fine, I can pick up my own things. No need to help,” he muttered sarcastically. He stopped and picked up her book, pressing it in her hands while she trembled.

 “Here, never thought I’d see you allow a book to be harmed but I guess we’re all full of surprises.”

 She didn’t speak, she just felt her lip split and start to bleed as she worried it with her teeth. He finally looked at her and seemed to notice something.

 “Granger? You okay?”

 She bolted, rabbit-fast, book in hand and bag swinging. She barely heard Malfoy call out to her as the door shut behind her.

* * *

 She made it to her room, completely bypassing Neville and Dean who called out to her as she passed. Shaking, she dropped onto her bed and clutched Crookshanks to her chest. He bore it with calm resignation, and she stroked his head. “Good Crooky. Mummy needs a moment.”

They stayed that way a long while, as the sun began setting and the lamps in her room flared alight. Hermione’s face was wet as she cried silent tears, Crookshanks purring and licking at the salt on her face every so often.

 Eventually the tears ran out and she felt like she could breathe again. Looking at her watch she saw that dinner was half over, and she sat up in bed. It was only when she heard a fist banging on the door next to hers that she stopped herself from flying out of the room.

 “Daph, I know you’re in there! Get your arse out and come to dinner or I’m force-feeding you!”

 Hermione felt her heart begin to race again, but evidently another panic attack wasn’t coming so she pressed her ear to the wood of her door as more banging and shouting ensued. She heard a lock slide open and the click of a door knob.

 “Draco, fuck off.”

 Robes rustled. “Nah sorry, not happening. I let you skip classes and meals all day and I’m not letting you skip a third meal. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” She heard the click of expensive dragonhide boots and the clatter of a plate and flatware being placed on a desk. “I’m not sorry, Daph. You need help.”

 “Oh, pot-kettle-black, Draco! You’re one to fucking talk!”

 The door slammed shut. “You need a healer too and you know it, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Do NOT try pulling that ‘I’m fine’ shit with me, I have known you since we were in nappies and I know you’re just as messed up about everything as me.”

 A deep sigh. “We’re not here about me, Daphne. Let’s lock the door and talk, yeah?”

 A grunt and the sound of something breaking into pieces made Hermione start back. “NO WE WILL NOT FUCKING TALK, DRACO! I am NOT Astoria, you don’t have to protect me and coddle me! You don’t need to tell me to eat and sleep and fuck all!”

 She heard shuffling, a struggle, and Draco’s hard voice filling the neighboring room. “I’m not fucking coddling you, I’m making sure this doesn’t kill you Daph! I’m just as fucked as you are. I lost fucking Vincent in the battle, watched him burn to death in front of my eyes! I couldn’t do anything to save anyone, I could only cower and lie and hope it wouldn’t be me or Mother next! I’m not going to fucking let it kill me Daph. I’m not going to let it kill you either.”

 She heard the swish of a wand and the sound of tinkling glass coming together, then the sound of water running and the slosh of a glass being forced into someone’s hands. “Fucking...just drink that and eat something. Anything. I need you and Tori and Blaise and Theo, Daph. I can’t let you guys die because I’m a selfish bastard and need you guys or I’ll kill myself.”

 The door was wrenched open, and then slammed shut, and Hermione heard dragonhide boots click their way back down the hall. Silence reigned for a moment, then a feminine sigh and the click of a lock. Hermione threw on her cloak and left for dinner. As she entered the common room she heard the first bars of a guitar being played, and she swept out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [W. A. Mozart - "Lacrimosa," from Requiem in D minor, K. 626 (LAGA on Youtube)](https://youtu.be/5WtxjCGevY8)


	5. All was dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to everyone who has commented, left kudos, and bookmarked! I’m tracking posts and such related to this fic under #stringsdramione on Tumblr, and I’m posting updates and writing-related stuff under that tag! I’m doing the same for Do No Harm under #dnhdramione too. Come say hi, my name is the same there as it is here!
> 
> Updates will start being posted on Sundays, as indicated in the changed description. It won’t be every Sunday probably, but it will be on a Sunday so you can check back regularly.

 It was midnight and black as pitch. Hermione sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes, then massaged a crick in her neck and shoulder from sleeping on her side instead of on her stomach as she was accustomed. Rain pattered outside, and the lamps in her room had gone out. Crookshanks was sleeping in his basket by her desk, his purring rumbling through the room. She shoved away _Advanced Potion Making_ and started trying to detangle her curls from her hair tie.

 Thunder cracked through the air, making her jump and waking Crookshanks with a hiss.

 Breathing deeply to calm her racing heart, her thoughts turned unwantedly to the Battle. The deafening crack of spells and Snargaluff pods. The dampness of the cold air in the Chamber of Secrets as she ripped fangs out of the massive skull of the basilisk. The acrid smell of smoke and metallic tang of blood. Her collar itched.

 She heard it again, the gentle plucking of notes. A lilting tune followed the gentle intervals of plucking and strumming, a waltz-like melody floating through the air. Lilting strings, both plucked and strummed, echoed through the hall. She sucked in a breath.

 She hadn’t known that it was possible to play Danse Macabre on the guitar. Tonight was full of surprises.

 She began to get out of her uniform and into her pyjamas, tossing the oxford and waistcoat jumper into the hamper and folding the wool skirt neatly. She’d just finished tying the string on her trousers with her wool school cloak clenched in her teeth when she heard a knock.

 “Come in,” she mumbled around the fabric in her mouth, finishing the knot and then taking the cloak in her hands to hang it on the desk chair. Instead of her front door opening, the suite door creaked and a sliver of blonde and blue eyes peeked in.

 “Granger? You’re awake too?”

 Hermione looked on in shock. “Greengrass?”

 The suite door opened up fully, and Daphne appeared in a more appropriate apple green flannel dressing gown and stocking feet. A lace neckline peeked out the V of her closed dressing gown and the Slytherin wrapped her thin arms over her stomach. “I-I can’t sleep. The storm.”

 Hermione drew out the desk chair. “It woke me up. I think I fell asleep while studying again.”

 The two women looked at each other, awkward and unsure. FInally Daphne huffed and stalked over, plopping down in the waiting desk chair. Hermione nodded and sat on her bed.

 “Do you think about the Battle ever?”

 She nodded at the blonde. “Every day. I get panic attacks and insomnia. Last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months.”

 Daphne tilted her head. “Yeah, same here. I was in the dungeons with the other Slytherins with my sister waiting it out. We heard the explosions. We just clung to each other and cried.” She tucked a stray lock behind the delicate curve of her ear, where a dangling pear teardrop hung glinting in the light. “Tori was shaking like a leaf. She still has nightmares where she wakes screaming. She has to silence her bed so no one in her dormitory hears her.”

 Hermione shifted and sat cross-legged on the duvet. “Ginny cries all the time and she’s been writing Harry every day. I haven’t seen her like this since she was a second year, it’s awful.” She pulled the other end of the duvet over her arms and around her shoulders. “I don’t have a sister but she’s the closest thing. We both haven’t moved on at all.”

 Daphne nodded. “I understand.”

 The two witches sat in silence, the pattering of rain echoing around them. Crookshanks jumped up on the desk, and nudged Daphne’s shoulder. She started, and then laughed gently and reached up to pet his scruffy head. “Why hello, handsome boy! Who might you be?”

 Hermione smiled. “His name is Crookshanks. I got him third year. He’s…”

 “Part-Kneazle, right?” Daphne finished for her. Hermione nodded.

 “Half, actually. He’s a really good judge of character.” She nodded towards the ginger cat, who was rubbing his head into Daphne’s manicured hand in obvious bliss. “He must really like you.”

 The blonde smiled, and Hermione was struck by how it transformed her already beautiful face into something radiant. “Well consider me flattered, Master Crookshanks.” She waved her hand at him in mock-majesty, imperiously tilting her head towards him. Hermione giggled.

 “Oh goodness, now I’ll never deflate his ego. He already thinks he owns the castle.” She pulled a packet from under her bed. “Want a jammie dodger?”

 The pureblood delicately plucked one from the preoffered packet, her other hand diligently scratching behind Crookshanks’ ear. “A  _ what _ now?”

 “It’s a muggle biscuit,” Hermione replied, nibbling hers. “I only have sugar-free but it’s still pretty good. The jam inside makes up for the lack of sugar in the biscuit part.”

 Daphne wrinkled her nose, then took a delicate bite. Her blue eyes widened as she chewed.

 “This is delicious!”

 Hermione laughed, a deep belly laugh that sent her falling back onto her bed and legs kicking as she gasped for air.

 They spent a few hours like that, nibbling jammie dodgers and talking. When they both were yawning and Daphne bid her goodnight as she walked back to her room, Hermione reflected that it was the most normal thing she’d done since fourth year, and settled into bed with Crookshanks at her side.

* * *

 By Saturday that week, she was exhausted but happy. She’d managed to avoid Malfoy despite sharing six classes together. Though if she were honest, it was inevitable that the minuscule class sizes of Alchemy, Magical Theory, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes would have him in them as all four houses were represented in those classes. She’d also found an unlikely acquaintance with her suitemate Daphne and she was pleased to see that not once in the week had she come across Daphne purging. She even caught Daphne occasionally sitting with the other eighth year Slytherins eating a small plate of food. A sore sight better than not eating at all like the first day.

_ No _ , Hermione thought as she stowed her bag in her dorm and went back out to the end-of-week prefect’s meeting,  _ not a bad first week at all _ . 

 She was pinning her badge to her robes, brow furrowed and tongue slightly protruding from between her lips in concentration, when she ran into something just a few feet from the classroom they were meeting in. She let out a shout as she ricocheted off whatever or whomever it was and fell back, her backside landing squarely on the floor.

 “Ow,” she complained, scrubbing at her forehead where she’d collided. She looked up, and felt her heart stutter and her breathing stop.

 “Salazar’s shorts, Granger! We’ve got to quit meeting like this.”

 Draco Malfoy had managed to stay standing, though he was doubled-over and rubbing his diaphragm in what had to be pain or irritation. Her brain couldn’t tell which; it was too busy attempting to restart her breathing as her lungs seemed to have decided to quit working. He looked down at her and reached out a long-fingered white hand. “Come on now, Granger. Can’t have a war heroine sprawled out on the floor in front of a former Death Eater, people will talk.”

 She continued staring at him, before tentatively raising a hand and grasping his. He hauled her up to her feet, and she snatched away her hand like he’d burned her.

 “What the hell is your…?”

 “Why do you keep being nice to me!?”

 His face scrunched up in confusion as she suddenly found her lungs cooperating again and gulping down air. She felt her eyes itching and filming over, her nose tingling as she felt it redden. She felt a sob wrack its way out of her chest, crawling out of her throat like a living creature. She swayed as her vision began to speckle with black, and Malfoy’s eyes widened as she almost pitched forward and he grasped her around the shoulders. “Granger, what is going on with you? What’s wrong?”

 She shrieked and flung his arm away, backing into the stone wall. “Please leave. Just go away please!”

 He schooled his face into something inscrutable and she was finally reminded of the Malfoy she knew and disliked. “No Granger, we’re dealing with this shite now. The fuck is wrong with you!?”

 Shuddering gasps and sobs made Hermione feel wrung out as she desperately tried to control herself and tamp down the part of her brain that was gibbering in fear at his proximity. She grasped her hair with hands like claws, tugging the curls to give her something to focus on that was real and solid. Tears stung her cheeks, and Malfoy backed away until she finally caught her breath and the sobs quieted to hitching inhales.

 Her head was still in her hands, her eyes avoiding anything but the floor, when she heard a rustle and a white-work embroidered handkerchief found its way into her line of sight. She snapped her head back up to see Malfoy holding it out to her, his face blank but eyes in turmoil.

 “How often do you get these panic attacks?”

 She hesitated, then snatched the fabric from his fingers. “Sometimes they come several times a day. Sometimes I can go a week or two without one.”

 She mopped at her face, while he looked at her. “Do you know what triggers them?”

 She scoffed. “Lots of things. I can’t even watch fireworks anymore.”

 She motioned to give him his handkerchief back, but he held up a hand. “Keep it. Let me guess, I trigger some of them?”

 She stuffed the fabric square into her pocket and crossed her arms. “I have good reason so if you’re going to be a prat about it…”

 “No!” He backed up a step, hands held up defensively. “Fuck Granger, I’ve made ridiculously stupid mistakes in the past seven years but I’m not a monster who mocks people for their mental issues. I can be thoughtlessly cruel but I’m not that much of an arsehole. Not anymore.”

 He lowered his arms. “Just...I’m not good at this but I’ll try to be blunt to satisfy your Gryffindor sensibilities. I’m so fucking sorry, Granger.”

 He stepped forward again, slowly, like you would towards a scared animal who could bolt or attack in equal measure. “I am so fucking sorry. For everything. I’m the one who taught you the cruelty of that awful slur. I’m the one who tormented you for years and made you feel like you didn’t belong in our world. I’m the one who did nothing while my bitch aunt tortured you in my drawing room.”

 He rubbed the back of his white-gold head. “Honestly I’m glad Weasley’s mum killed her. Aunt Bella can burn in hell for all the fucked things she’s done.”

 Hermione was aghast, panic attack completely forgotten as she watched the boy who had made her life hell spilled his guts out in confession. She had no words for the sight of the proud and arrogant young Malfoy looking genuinely distraught as his apology spilled from him before her eyes.

 “I’m not asking for you to forgive me or forget how fucking awful I was to you or all the things I’ve done in cowardice and stupidity, but I just couldn’t go on without at least apologising.” He finished his self-flagellating tirade at last, and then nodded and went to the door of the classroom.

 “I’ll go in first and you can come in a bit later. That way you don’t have to watch me come in. Again, I’m sorry Granger.”

 He opened the heavy wooden door, and she could only stand frozen and stare at the place he’d been as the sound of it closing echoed and reverberated in the silent hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Camille Saint-Saëns - "Danse macabre," op. 40 guitar transcription (LAGA on Youtube)](https://youtu.be/TAJFlzY4EMM)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Short chapter, sorry! But huge plot development for you guys today! :)


	6. He was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, it’s been impossible to keep up with writing since my kid has started potty training. Thanks to everyone leaving kudos and comments! I’m tracking posts and such related to this fic under #stringsdramione on Tumblr, and I’m posting updates and writing-related stuff under that tag! I’m doing the same for Do No Harm under #dnhdramione too. Come say hi, my name is the same there as it is here!

  She waited a solid five minutes before entering the prefect meeting room, followed shortly after by a harried Ernie Macmillan. She took a seat near the back while he rushed up to the front with Padma and dropped an armful of scrolls onto the old teacher’s desk they used as a podium. Neville sat in the front row with a scroll of his own, poised to take minutes.

  “Hullo everyone,” Macmillan greeted the room as he pushed his sweaty fringe out of his face and braced his arms on the desk. “We have a few things we need to discuss today, including the patrols and the Quidditch and Hogsmeade schedules. Padma and I had an idea for drawing lots instead of assigning based on house, in keeping with the Headmistress’ idea of inter-house unity. All in favor?”

  Hermione raised her hand, as did several others. Ernie smiled as he counted. 

  “Eighteen for. All opposed?”

  Some others raised their hands. Hermione noticed that some voted neither way. Ernie tallied up the numbers and clapped his hands together.

  “The ayes have it. Padma is the one who made up the lots we’ll be using, so she will explain. Padma?”

  The Head Girl rose from her seat. “Traditional lots, I have several sticks of various lengths that each group of prefects will come up and choose from. The two shortest are paired together, then the next two shortest together, and so on up. Boys choose first, then girls will choose from an identical set. Any questions?”

  The various years murmured in the negative. Hermione hoped that her partner wouldn’t be utterly useless, or worse. 

  The fifth years were first to be called, the lots being drawn quickly. Both of the Gryffindor prefects were paired with a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff respectively. The next years went up, with only the sixth year boys’ prefect being paired with the girls’ Slytherin prefect. He didn’t look too upset by this; Hermione vaguely remembered that during her sixth year there was rumour that a Slytherin/Gryffindor couple had begun seeing one another amongst the lower years so she assumed this was the notorious Gryffindor.

  Finally, the eighth year prefects were called. Hermione went up and selected a stick that was only three-fourths the full length, and immediately went to Neville. Neville unfortunately had the short stick for the boys, and as Hermione went next to Ernie and Anthony with no luck, the bottom of her stomach dropped out in dread.

  Bollocks.

  Malfoy held up his stick to hers, his expression unreadable. They were a match.

* * *

  She managed to swallow back the panic rising in her throat as she not only got paired with Malfoy, but was stuck with him on Hogsmeade weekends once a month. Thankfully Quidditch games were by house, and so she was with Neville and could relax. She was barely paying attention to the rest of the meeting, scratching at the collar of her robes while Ernie droned on and on about patrols. It wasn’t until Padma rose from her seat that she tuned back into the meeting, and the itching abated.

  “Now the Headmistress is adamant that we try to make things feel as normal as possible. As such, she’s given us permission to plan two school-wide events. We’re allowed to do something for All Hallow’s Eve and Ostara this year, but we need to figure out what exactly the events should be.”

  A murmur ran through the tables, and Hermione turned her thoughts over this new information. Padma allowed them a minute to get the discussion out of their system, before raising her hands for silence and continuing. “Now I don’t expect us to decide this tonight, but I think it will be fair to give everyone until the next meeting in two weeks to write out their ideas. I thought we could set up a box, and people could drop slips of paper with an idea written out inside and we could draw out a few and vote on it.”

  She held up an institutional-looking brown strongbox with a slit in the top. “This will sit in the prefect’s bathroom and between rounds or whenever you have time you can insert your ideas. Be sure to only put one idea per slip!”

  She put the box down, and clapped her hands. “Meeting adjourned!”

* * *

  Hermione returned to the dorms and went straight to her room, where Crookshanks sauntered in behind her with a gruff meow. He’d clearly been waiting for her to return and was disgruntled that she’d taken so long. She swept her curls back and secured them with a clip, and undressed into pyjamas before flopping on her bed and pulling out her Arithmancy essay for another editing session. She’d managed to get past the first paragraph when she realized she’d read the last sentence thrice without absorbing a single word, and she put down her parchment and quill with a huff.

  She had no idea how she’d manage patrols with Malfoy for the rest of the year. She could barely stop from having a panic attack from the mere thought of him! And what had that apology been anyway? Did he really expect that she’d accept that from him?

  A knock sounded on her outer door. Hermione looked up, nose scrunched in confusion. She adjusted the clip in her hair and then tied on her dressing gown before calling out. “Come in.”

  Pansy Parkinson stood in her door frame, pin-straight bob sharp and face stern. “Can we talk?”

  Hermione’s brain skipped a few beats, her mouth open in shock. The black-haired witch flicked her bob behind her ears as she rolled her eyes. “Please, just because I’m a bitch normally doesn’t mean I’m here to verbally eviscerate you now. I just want a moment.”

  Hermione finally shut her mouth and nodded. “I’ll listen if you promise not to insult me. We aren’t exactly friends.”

  Pansy stepped in, eyes scanning the tidy room without comment. “We’re not friends, but Draco  _ is _ my friend.” She leaned against the bedpost, carefully avoiding Crookshanks. He licked a paw, clearly unimpressed with his audience.

  “I know he can be a prat,” she stated, not even looking at Hermione’s direction. “But honestly, he went through hell with Lord Arsehole living in his manor. He didn’t get a choice to return this year. He was lucky that his age stopped him from being put in Azkaban.”

  She picked a bit of nonexistent fluff off her immaculate mauve dressing gown. Hermione flinched. “He just wants to finish out the year, earn a few NEWTs, and graduate and move on with his life.”

  She finally turned her dark eyes towards Hermione. “Can you maybe not make his life hell while you two have to work together on patrols?”

  The intensity of Pansy’s gaze was arresting, and Hermione mulled the one-sided conversation over in her head. It was obvious that the Slytherin was being blunt for her benefit as a Gryffindor, and Hermione felt a vague sense of irritation at the seemingly prevalent idea that she couldn’t handle subtext due to her house. However, she mused, it was appreciated that she didn’t have to drag out the truth from them and could avoid the exhaustion she normally felt when people danced around their actual meaning instead of being forthright. She sighed.

  “I understand that he went through a lot.” She tightened the dressing gown around herself. “He apologized to me, but I’m not sure if I can forgive or forget what he did, even before the war.”

  Pansy frowned, and Hermione met her hard gaze. “However, if I can spend time with Daphne and have a cordial relationship with her, then Malfoy deserves an attempt to be polite at least. I’m not saying I’ll be best friends and skip into the sunset with the git, but I just want to get through the year as much as he does.”

  Pansy nodded. “That’s fair.”

  The two girls seemed to have reached an understanding with one another. Pansy tilted her jaw defiantly into the air and swept out of the room, and Hermione simply stared after her as the door swung shut in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried to make this one a little longer than the last chapter. I’m about a quarter of the way through the next chapter, so I promise a chapter next week. Please comment and leave kudos!


	7. Fine day, Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m tracking posts and such related to this fic under #stringsdramione on Tumblr, and I’m posting updates and writing-related stuff under that tag! I’m doing the same for Do No Harm under #dnhdramione too. Come say hi, my name is the same there as it is here!
> 
> Also I may be aging myself here, but 1998 was ALL ABOUT the boot cut and bell bottom jeans and I remember fighting with my mom to buy a pair of bell bottom jeans and Sketchers platform sneakers while my cousin twisted her hair into those tiny multicolored butterfly clips. Parvati’s giant sparkly butterfly clip makes a comeback from the books in this story later on because we need more fics with late 90s fashion.
> 
> This ended up taking WAY too long to write, and it’s pretty much inexcusable. I did have computer issues in August, but even that isn’t enough to make up for the lack of updates, I apologize for that. As restitution I offer more Ginny and Neville and a decent length chapter.

  Hermione was eating a butter-and-jam-smeared muffin carefully as she read over her Magical Theory text and cross-referenced her notes. It had been a fine morning: she woke bright and early at seven, had a shower before anyone else had been up, taken time to fashion her unruly curls into a practical but pretty double french braid ending in a bun at the nape of her neck, and dressed in a warm periwinkle cashmere jumper and bootcut jeans. It had taken her a further fifteen minutes to make her way downstairs to the Great Hall, and by then the first early risers were showing up.

  Her comfortable trainers kicked beneath her as she munched and read, noting Dresden’s Third Law of Intent down in her notes. The Hall was filling slowly and she greeted an equally-focused Neville, his nose buried in _1000 and 1 Poisonous Herbs and Fungi_ by Agaric Psilocybe, with a wave. He held up a finger in acknowledgement, slipped a bookmark into place, and finally put the book down and rubbed his temples.

  “I swear I’m going mental,” he groaned. “Between preparing for my Herbology mastery and studying for NEWTs it’ll be a wonder I make it past Christmas.”

  Hermione pushed a plate towards him. “Have a muffin.”

  A great slam echoed through the Hall, and nearly half the school turned to see Ginny stalking down the center aisle, red hair twisted into multiple butterfly clips and streaming behind her like a war banner and brown kohl-rimmed eyes daring anyone to approach her. As she stalked up the Gryffindor table to Hermione and Neville, both stuffed their books into their bags and moved their cups and goblets out of line of fire. Ginny slapped down a piece of parchment before Hermione, barely avoiding her plate of eggs.

  “He’s doing it again,” Ginny fumed. “He’s trying to be noble again and break it off!”

  Hermione read through the letter, brow furrowed. She could barely understand Harry’s handwriting at the best of times, and when she finally made it through the scrawled missive she snorted.

  “I don’t know what he expected to happen when he joined the Aurors, of course he’s going to still have enemies and be fighting dark wizards! Write him back, tell him to get to Hogsmede next week and talk about this with you or you’ll call down the almighty wrath of your Mum on him.” She speared a bit of scrambled egg and chewed. Ginny grinned and picked up the paper.

  “I’ll do one better, I’ll send a Howler. At least last time he had the decency to do it to my face, there’s really no excuse is there?”

  Neville shrank back a little, face pained. “I really don’t envy Harry right now.”

  Hermione laughed and while Ginny huffed she finished her plate. It being so early she didn’t see much of the rest of the school up and about, much less the majority of the Eighth Years. She swiped another piece of toast and gathered her things.

  “I’m off to the library. Anyone joining in?”

  Ginny was too far gone penning the first draft of her inevitable Howler to Harry, and Neville groaned and let his forehead connect with the table with a thud and muffled “I’m doomed.”

* * *

  Hermione loved the library. It was basically the same, if missing a few volumes to damage. Dust motes swirled in shafts of light from the stained glass windows of notable witches and wizards, and the bookshelves gleamed with the shiny wear of thousands of hands. The trestle tables had blotters and lamps for student use and the rich smell of aged parchment, ink, and old tomes settled the panic and mended her mind like nothing else ever could.

  She was in one of the carrels, still leafing through her Magical Theory text and noting down Dresden’s observations and their implications in the crafting of new spells when a thud startled her on the carrel’s twin on the other side.

  “Sorry, did I startle you?”

  She stood up and peeked over the edge. Her face scrunched up in confusion. “Nott?”

  The Slytherin smiled, his glasses slightly askew and hazel eyes kind. “Hello. If I may be preemptive, my father is a git and I don’t believe in his twisted blood supremacy.”

  Hermione slumped back in her chair. “Am I now the proud owner of a herd of Slytherins? Is Zabini going to start sitting next to me at lunch?”

  “Nah, more fun to sit by you in the library.”

  Hermione jumped as Blaise Zabini plunked his books down on the edge of the carrel with a thud, sweeping down beside her and leaning rakishly with one elbow on the table and the palm of his hand holding up his chiseled jaw. Both Slytherins grinned, twin looks of mischief that reminded her eerily of a certain prankster duo.

  “What do you two want,” she sighed, shoulders slumping. “If this is about being paired with Malfoy for patrols, I already promised I’d be civil…”

  “Malfoy doesn’t need us defending him.”

  “Nah, his ego is too big for that and that’s what Pansy is for anyway.” Theo steepled his fingers together and Zabini continued looking slightly above her head with a carefully curated look of seductive boredom that failed utterly to entice the Gryffindor.

  “No,” said Nott, “We’re mostly here because our fellow snakes have begun to take interest in you, and we want to see what the fuss is all about.”

  Hermione snorted. "The fuss is nothing, I’m afraid. Just because I’m a ’war hero’ doesn’t change the fact that all I want is to study and earn high marks on my NEWTs.”

  “Yeah, what’s with that anyway,” Zabini asked, cocking his head to the side and reminding Hermione of an inquisitive gazehound. She sighed and closed her book. Obviously she wouldn’t be getting anymore studying done today.

  “Ever since I got in this world, I’ve had something to prove”. She tucked a curl that had escaped from her braids behind her ear.

  “I’m muggle-born, and I’m sure you both are all too aware that it meant I had to prove I belong in this world, that I’m a witch. So I study and get the highest marks I can, so people like your father won’t have any reason to doubt my ability.”

  Here Nott had the decency to look uncomfortable at his father’s prejudice. Hermione turned to Zabini.

  “I know it makes me a terrible swot, but it’s the only thing I know how to do. I just…” she sighed.

  “Yes?”

  She let her forehead thud to the tabletop.

  “I just, for once, want to belong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks for the kudos and bookmarks! I am so humbled and can only hope I haven't angered anyone with my slow update schedule.
> 
> Tbh the most fun part of this fic is the pop culture references. Can you spot them?


	8. The shortest distance between two people is a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually working on a few chapters that happen later in the story, and I'm hoping if I time my updates right I should have them up a bit after Halloween. In the meantime, I'm on Tumblr using the tag #stringsdramione to update people on what's happening writing wise for this fic, come say hi!
> 
> Next chapter will skip ahead a little, but enjoy some Dramione for now.

  They had a hell of a history. And as Hermione walked the patrol route with Malfoy by her side, hair still tidily held back in braids and school robe thrown over her jumper and jeans, she tamped down the urge to ruin the silence with their shared story.

  They had been assigned the lower levels of the West half of the castle, which meant the dungeons were in store for the night. Malfoy searched the classrooms of the ground floor, opening doors and peeking inside while Hermione cast _Hominim_ _Revelio_ in case of the unlikely chance of an invisibility cloak or Disillusionment charm. She’d managed to contain the crawling in her soul at being alone with him, but her discomfort hadn’t completely abated yet. It wasn’t until they began to delve into the dungeons that the silence was broken.

  “Tell me something that you’ve never told anyone before.”

  Her head whipped around to look at Malfoy, face twisted with confusion. “Excuse me?”

  He held his lit wand before him, but did not turn to face her as he looked out for slick steps. “If we’re going to be paired for the foreseeable future, we might want to at least learn more about each other besides our disaster of an acquaintance. So tell me something that you’ve never told anyone before.”

  She simply stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He flicked his gaze over his shoulder, and huffed.

  “Well fine, I just wanted…”

  “No!” Her exclamation bounced off the stone walls, making him turn to look at her properly. “No! I um, I just…”

  She wrung her hands. “Just...why?”

  He huffed again and continued down the steps, raising his wand again. “It’s stupid. I just want to make this a little less uncomfortable and unbearable but whatever.”

  She worried her lower lip, then made up her mind. “How about this, we play Twenty Questions. You can ask a question, then I answer and ask in return. We continue until twenty questions are asked, and we don’t have to talk anymore.”

  He reached the bottom of the steps, and turned to face her. “Fine then. What is something no one else at school knows about you? Even Potter and Weasley.”

  She stepped off the staircase with a slight jump on the last step. “I’ve taken dance lessons and singing lessons since I was three.”

  “Bullshite,” Malfoy scoffed. “Prove it.”

  Hermione sensed the challenge in his voice, and she smirked.

_O come, O come, Emmanuel,_

_and ransom captive Israel_

_that mourns in lonely exile here_

_until the Son of God appear._

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel_

_shall come to you, O Israel._

_Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel_

_shall come to you, O Israel._

  Malfoy stopped in his tracks as her voice rang out and echoed through the corridor, his wand arm falling to his side as he listened. “Bloody hell,” he breathed, the final notes fading as she finished. She smiled.

  “My turn. Who are the people closest to you, besides your parents?”

  As they checked the first couple of closets and rooms, he huffed and puffed before finally answering her. 

  “Pansy of course. Blaise. Theo. Daphne and Astoria. Greg and I had a falling out after...well, you remember what happened to Vincent.”

  She did. Unnatural fire like the bowels of hell, the acrid smell of sulphur in the air, gripping desperately to a broomstick as fear put bile in her throat and mouth…

  “I’m sorry about Vincent.”

  “Not your fault,” he said quietly, closing another door with a kick. “Vince and Greg...near the end there, they were on board one hundred percent. I was just fighting to survive.”

  They searched the next few rooms in silence, back to the awkward quiet they’d started the evening in.

* * *

  She woke at six Monday morning, not feeling rested at all. She’d gotten back from patrols and he’d merely nodded at her and swept off to his own dorm, robe billowing behind him in a way that would have made Severus proud. She’d had nightmares about the Room of Requirement, making her toss and turn. As she got up and assessed the damage in the mirror, she grimaced at the tired eyes with deep purple bags and her hair’s unruly state. She waved her wand and glamoured the circles away, and swept her hair into a serviceable French braid. She fed Crookshanks and got ready for the day, brushing her teeth and then dressing in her regulation uniform. She collected her bag and made her way out to the great hall, where she joined the bleary-eyed early risers of the school and groped for a coffee pot as soon as she sat at the Gryffindor table.

  As everyone filtered in and she started to wake up from the caffeine (no milk, two sugars), she refused to reflect on the events of the night before and tugged out her Herbology text to review the reading. However her traitorous brain had other plans and kept returning to the Malfoy she’d seen last night, jaw clenched and eyes haunted after the mention of Vincent’s grisly demise.

  She sighed. Rather than clearing the air, it seemed like the gulf between them had just gotten wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My voice match for Hermione in this chapter is this [viral video of Melinda Kathleen Reese in Pantheon church](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IlNBnzyiomU).
> 
> I'm going to attempt to update Do No Harm soon, I've just been having a hell of a time trying to write this next chapter.


	9. September was short, and yet also agonizingly long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this chapter up introducing the new arc on Halloween, but my dog ended up needing emergency care and stitches in his shoulder and I've been having to give him antibiotics and had no time to write or post. The chapters I'd originally wanted up on Halloween will probably end up posted around 8 December instead.
> 
> I am so honored to have crimsinsky, rebelsaurus29, and EnviedFable review this little story!!! Do go read their stuff, I'm subscribed to several of their fics and if you like this you'll definitely find something to like in their stories!

  The week progressed in a blur of classes and the occasional small prank from Zabini and Nott. Of course, Hermione had no proof that they were the perpetrators, but she had a gut feeling that the duo were much the Slytherin version of the Weasley Twins. And, it seemed, much more adept at never getting caught red-handed in their plots. She was thankful she only had Sunday evening patrols with Malfoy; she studiously avoided him unless it was absolutely necessary for class or her prefect duties, and she felt so very awkward about their last encounter she almost welcomed the distraction of Zabini and Nott wreaking havoc in the castle when no one was looking.

  Pansy had gone from snobbishly intolerable to only mildly snobbish and indifferent; in fact, she neither insulted Hermione and her friends nor did she seem to pay them much mind. It was a refreshing change of pace from the past six or seven years of their lives, and combined with the growing acquaintanceship with Daphne Hermione felt it wasn’t all that bad actually. As Friday dawned with a nip in the air and lovely golden sunlight streaming onto the grounds things seemed to have hit an equilibrium, and she felt for the first time in a while that maybe she could eventually carry on with her life.

  It was with this in mind that she slipped her suggestions for the fall and spring social gatherings into the box in the prefect’s bathroom Friday morning after Charms. She had a large study block planned out for the rest of the morning until lunch, and she was firmly resolved to spend it going over her notes for Alchemy.

  It turned out to be a terrifically difficult subject, but utterly fascinating. Professor Dene was a passionate teacher, showing them that the exactness of the alchemical circle was integral to its structure and that even the wrong width in the thickness of a single line could be catastrophic, as outlined by Elric the Younger’s writings on Equivalent Exchange and alchemical enchantment. It was a fantastic change of pace to be in a higher level class, with everyone fearlessly asking questions or pointing out things she would have missed on her own. Even Malfoy was actively participating, effortlessly correcting misconceptions on theory as well as questioning Professor Dene on minute details that Hermione hadn’t even read about yet in the text. It was a little disconcerting to see someone excelling in a subject more than her, and yet she couldn’t help but feel a little respect for the Slytherin and his apparent enthusiasm for a delicate and notoriously advanced branch of magic.

  Professor Dene certainly thought so, throwing herself into each of his probing questions with aplomb and confirming as well as explaining his corrections with boundless excitement. It amounted to a lot of homework and a lot of single-spaced and finely-written notes, colour-coded of course with cross-references written out on scraps of parchment and affixed with a Sticking Charm. If she had even a hope of making top two spot in the course (Malfoy clearly showing himself to be on the way to being top student in that regard) she knew she’d need to read up on things and study hard. 

  As she entered her dormitory and began collecting her things for the library, she reflected on the quiet peace of the place when most everyone was either in class or studying somewhere. She set about leisurely collecting her notes and books, gently placing her Charms books and notes on the desk as she cleared out her bag. A particularly stubborn quill stuck inexplicably to the bottom of her bookbag with an unwrapped and squashed nugget of Drooble’s was giving her trouble when she heard it again.

  Lilting strings floated on the air, plucking out Korsakov’s “The Story of the Kalender Prince” in a beautifully rippling guitar solo. Hermione dropped her bag on the chair, eyes wide but unseeing as she felt her feet begin slowly moving, muscle memory dragging her with them as she relived her dance recital from when she was ten years old, the choreography of the ballet coming back to her as though she’d performed it yesterday. Her hair fell from its oversized claw clip and tumbled about her shoulders as she hit an arabesque and twirled into a perfect attitude, temporarily losing herself in the dance.

It wasn’t until she finished a complicated set of piqué turns ending in a gentle jeté that she noticed the music had stopped and she had an audience.

  “You never mentioned you could dance,” Daphne said, Pansy peeking over her shoulder with eyebrows high enough to be hidden completely in her fringe. Hermione felt her face redden as she smoothed her skirt and ran a hand up to rearrange her curls.

  “I’ve been dancing ballet and ballroom since I could walk,” she mumbled, and Pansy composed herself enough to whistle.

  “That was very impressive Granger.” She tucked the front of her bob behind her ears and Hermione noticed the girl’s mouth twist uncomfortably. “I honestly never picked up anything but formal ballroom dance and I don’t think I can dance nearly as well as you.”

  “It’s a bit of a secret,” she replied, quickly feeling things get more and more awkward as she collected her books and notes. “I’d...really appreciate it if this doesn’t go farther than us three.”

_  Us four _ , her brain unhelpfully supplied.  She’d nearly forgotten she’d told Malfoy and then put him in his place just last Sunday.

  Both girls nodded. “Not that it’s anything to be embarrassed about,” Daphne chatted, turning away and waving a hand behind her as Pansy also took her leave. The suite door shut behind them and Hermione groaned, thudding her forehead into the heavy alchemy text she was holding with finality.

* * *

 

  The prefect meeting later that evening saw her sitting uncomfortably in the middle row with Pansy behind her. Of course no one else was paying attention, but the proximity reminded her of the incident in her room and the embarrassment at being caught was refreshed in her mind and caused her face to remain uncomfortably warm through the first half of the meeting. It was the week they’d be counting votes and finalizing the events, and Hermione found herself hoping that they’d get to the voting already and save her from her agony.

  “And now that’s out of the way,” Ernie finished after a rambling report from a younger Griffindor prefect who no doubt was another Percy Weasley in the making, “we can now get to the thing we’ve all been waiting for. Padma?”

  The Ravenclaw smiled and held up the box. “By now most if not all of you have probably thrown in your suggestion. We’ve gone through each slip, tallied up the suggestions that are similar, and  the two suggestions with the highest amount of similar suggestions are ready to be voted on for the Halloween and Ostara events.”

  Everyone shuffled in their seats with a rustle, clearly eager to hear what the top events were and ready to cast their vote.

  “The top two suggestions by frequency, ” Ernie said in his usual pompous way, “are a formal dinner and dance like the Yule Ball, and a talent show.”

  Hermione felt her stomach drop. She wasn’t upset her suggestions of an inter-house decathalon and a school-wide culture festival didn’t make the cut, but both suggestions were just so…

  “Frivolous,” said a haughty-looking younger Ravenclaw with a huff. “I find balls and talent shows to be a perfectly irrational way for people to meet each other and foster unity. It would be far more rational for talking or the exchange of ideas to be the order of the day.” Pansy snorted behind Hermione, and everyone turned to look at the pureblood girl who wore a sardonic smirk on her face.

  “Yes, far more rational,” she said, examining her nails. “But rather less like a ball.”

  Hermione suppressed a snort of amusement. She doubted Pansy had even heard of Jane Austen, but the response was just too, too perfect. Ernie cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

  “Right then,” he grumbled. “I open up the floor to voting. The highest number of suggestions was the formal dance, followed by the talent show. All those for a Halloween Ball, raise your hand.”

  Hermione reluctantly raised her hand, and felt the air move as Pansy raised her own. Padma counted votes and nodded to Ernie, who smiled. 

  “All for a Spring Formal?”

  A smaller number of hands rose, with the haughty Ravenclaw from earlier rolling their eyes and abstaining from voting. Padma smiled.

  “Very well, a Halloween Ball and Spring Talent Show it is!” She clapped her hands brightly. “Now as senior members of the Prefect body, I think it’s only fair we assign the organization to the Eighth years and have the Seventh years in charge of enacting the decisions. Who among the former Prefects volunteers for organizational duty?”

  Hermione raised her hand, as did Pansy, Goldstein, and surprisingly Malfoy. Ernie smiled jovially.

  “Well now, as we clearly can’t have two housemates working on the same event together if we want to promote unity, we’ll have to split you into boy-girl pairs accordingly,” he stated. Hermione felt a sinking sensation, and she dug her nails into her palms as the full implication hit her.

  Padma nodded. “Granger and Malfoy will handle the Ball, and Parkinson and Anthony can handle the talent show. I think that’s the most fair, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Halloween Ball Arc will last roughly five or six chapters, culminating in a finale that will be at least three parts. I have had it planned out for about a month now and the finale is already written and in editing while the other chapters are plotted out and in the process of being written. I WILL have these released in a timely manner and that's a firm promise!
> 
> Please review and leave kudos, alstublieft! :)
> 
> Song: [The Story of the Kalender Prince, from Scheherazade, op. 35 - Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ocaWN032Rc) from LAGA on Youtube.


	10. It's easier not to face it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: depictions of panic attacks, aftereffects of trauma and violence, setbacks to recovery, and discussion of abuse and torture. Reader discretion is advised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've entered the Halloween Ball arc. This arc will be five or six chapters, ending with a three-part update in December. This one is technically updating on Monday where I am, but it's Sunday in the US where a lot of my readers are so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I'm going to be exploring a lot of emotions and dynamics in this arc, and while breakthroughs will be made there will also be an exploration of trauma and recovery. This chapter is the first glimpse at that; you've been warned.

  She avoided him all of Saturday. She sequestered herself in the greenhouse alongside Neville and Luna, the rustling green leaves of the various plants a soothing white noise like balm on her shattered nerves. Neville was sketching a Dirigible Plum that Luna had donated to the school after her and her father had begun rebuilding their property, and it was the first time in a long while that Hermione had seen Luna show more than melancholy.

  “Daddy is surprised at how well they’re doing,” her dreamy voice said, fondly stroking the bobbing radish-shaped fruits. “He was worried that the destruction of the house would have stressed them past the point of recovery, but they seem to be fruiting and reinflating nicely. They make an excellent syrup.”

  Neville scribbled frantically in his notebook, nodding enthusiastically. “They’re fascinating! I can’t believe you managed to grow them here in England, but they’re thriving!”

  “Oh yes,” Luna murmured absent-mindedly. Hermione watched her gently pick a cocoon from the underside of a leaf and place it in a safe niche made by a toppled stack of pots and a bag of manure. “They’re beautiful, I got the seeds from a contact of Daddy’s in Ukraine. The soil is remarkably fertile there and hospitable to magical plants.”

  Hermione smiled. As much as Luna rarely made sense, it was nice spending time with her after everything. “How did you manage to get them growing here?”

  “I mixed a custom potting soil for the initial incubation period,” the blonde responded, trailing her fingers along the Venomous Tentacula seedlings, still too young to do more than wriggle their tendrils in a hardly-menacing way. She paused a second, looking unsure if she should say more, and Ginny rushed in, nearly knocking into Neville in her haste.

  “Is it true,” she gasped at Hermione, tucking her windswept hair into a ponytail with a battered turquoise scrunchie. She cocked her head at the redhead.

  “Is what true, Gin?”

  “Eloise Midgen said she heard from Kevin Entwhistle who heard from Seamus who heard from Parvati who heard from Padma,” Ginny rushed, stopping only to swallow a gasp of air before continuing, “that there’s going to be a formal on Halloween! Is. It. True?!”

  She felt her throat constrict. A tinny sound began to whine in her ears, the gently filtered light of the greenhouse suddenly unbearable to her eyes. Her tongue seemed to swell in her mouth, heavy and unwieldy. She thought she tasted blood.

  “Hermione?”

  She didn’t hear Luna’s concerned question, her nails digging into her wrist and her stomach churning with nausea. Faintly she registered the noise in her ears turning into a cackle; a high, mad sound she had nightmares about for months after the final battle and the death of the cruel madwoman they echoed.

  “‘Mione!” Ginny was shaking her. Hermione dully registered the sound of a screen door slamming shut; Neville had run out of the greenhouse. Luna was gently helping her to the floor as she felt sobs begin to rise up and spill out, her body convulsing with the effort. Hot tears burned her cheeks, her hair beginning to escape the ponytail she’d thrown it up into. She wiped the wetness from her face futilely, and the collar of her shirt burned.

  “Hermione, breathe.” A calm voice shattered the fugue, and gentle hands held her wrists. The door sounded again and another pair of hands joined the first and pulled the hair sticking to her face away, gently perfumed with aloe and rosewater. As she came back to herself, gulping ragged but steady breaths, she noticed her shirt had dots of red at the neck and cuffs; she’d scratched herself so hard the skin had gone raw.

  “Shh,” someone soothed, rubbing circles into her back as the cool touch of the perfumed hands brushed her face gently. “Focus on your breathing. In for three, out for three. In through the nose and out through the mouth.”

  The racing of her heart calmed, the sobs petering out. The light slowly returned to being gently filtered in through the greenery. A glossy pink smile began to register, golden hair like a curtain of sunlight held gently back in a braided half-updo registering in her vision. Beside her on her left was dirty blonde waves and the intelligent eyes of Luna, gently soothing away the ache from the panic attack Hermione belatedly realised she was coming down from. Red hair flashed, and Ginny’s sheepish face appeared at her right. She gathered her surroundings, and noticed Neville sigh in relief before slumping in a stool beside a tray of aloe pups.

  “Welcome back,” Daphne said, lotion-softened hands sliding away from her face to grasp her own. Hermione’s head ached, but she nodded to her suitemate and Ginny sagged in relief.

  “I’m so sorry ‘Mione.” She watched the firey redhead wipe moisture from her eyes. “I didn’t realize talking about  _ that _ would make you panic like that.”

  She gave her longtime friend a watery smile. “You couldn’t have known. I thought I was okay, but I guess I’m not so over things as I thought.”

* * *

  They all huddled together in the eighth year common room that night, Hermione huddled in a woolly afghan Ginny had brought from her room. Luna had brought everyone steaming mugs of hot chocolate and while she and Neville sat on one of the loveseats staring into their mugs, Daphne and Ginny both sat with Hermione on another sofa, Ginny adding marshmallows methodically to her cup while Daphne didn’t touch her mug and held her shaking hands in her lap. A fire crackled in the hearth, but the heat didn’t do a thing to penetrate the chill in their bones.

  “I haven’t been okay since the war,” Hermione said, breaking the silence.

  “I...We saw a lot of bad shite while on the run.” She scratched her upper lip. “I told Harry and Ron but not the rest of you, but I obliviated my parents and sent them to Australia with false memories and identities to protect them.”

  “Fuck,” Ginny breathed, stopping in the steady drowning of marshmallows. Daphne looked alarmed, while Luna seemed resigned.

  “And their minds haven’t broken? They still remember you?”

  Hermione nodded her head. “I did a clean job, so restoration was easy once they were taken to experts. They occasionally struggle to remember things, but it’s mostly things they had trouble remembering even before.”

  “That was incredibly reckless of you.” Neville grit out, the hands holding his mug shaking. “You’re lucky it didn’t make them mad.”

  “Yes Neville, thanks,” she replied sarcastically. “I never appreciated that fact before!”

  He pressed his lips in a thin line, but didn’t say more. She glared at him. “I realize it was stupid of me, but I felt like I had no choice. They’d be helpless against magic.”

  She tucked an errant curl behind her ear. The boy’s dorms opened, and Theo and Blaise stepped out, not closing the door. 

  “Are we interrupting,” asked Blaise, his normally dramatic air seeming subdued. Theo looked paler than usual, his eyes flat and not a mischievous smirk to be seen. They took a couple armchairs that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Slytherin common room and Blaise pulled his long legs up into the seat and hugged them, looking very young for someone who was technically an adult.

  Hermione shook her head, then continued. “Then during the preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, I was secretly packing away potions and books and rations as much as I could get away with under Molly’s nose. And the attack at the reception and running into London, obliviating one of the men sent to kill us in that cafe…”

  “That was you?”

  Everyone turned their heads to look at Theo, his voice tiny and eyes wide. He pushed up his glasses and squirmed. “My dad had been the one to send them out after you three. When they failed and one of them was missing...well, he took it out on me that night.”

  He lifted the sleeve on his shirt, exposing a long and ragged gash that looked like the bone had been forced through from underneath and been inexpertly healed. “I botched healing the puncture, but I got the bone set right and I luckily don’t have any aches or pains from it other than the occasional itch.”

  Daphne clapped a hand over her mouth, her blue eyes filling with tears that shone like drops of gold in the firelight. “Theo, you never said it had gotten that bad.”

  He shrugged. “Not like I could tell anyone who could do anything about it. I’m lucky he thought me too much of a failure to even get the Mark though. I was spared that hell.”

  Hermione held out an arm, opening the afghan to the air in a welcoming gesture. Theo stood hesitantly, and then walked over and crawled beside her, folding his gangly frame into the afghan beside her. He sat quietly and they all pretended they couldn’t see the wet glistening on his cheeks for his sake.

  “...After that we kept moving constantly. Avoided Snatchers, cast wards, jumped all over Britain. And then...Ron left us.” She scrubbed at her nose, tickling with unshed tears she refused to cry. “He left and Harry and I were still running. We went to Godric’s Hollow, did I say that Gin?”

  Ginny shook her head. She pressed on. 

  “That’s where we found Bathilda Bagshot’s body, with the bloody snake using it like a skin puppet.”

  Neville went green and Blaise gave a shuddering gag. Ginny looked alarmed, and Daphne set down the mug she’d been about to sip from, mouth twisting. 

  “Shortly after that, Ron returned and we got caught by Snatchers.” It was finally coming out now, words rushing with little control from her brain. She set her mug down.

  “They took us to Malfoy Manor. Malfoy’s parents were hoping to have anything to redeem themselves in Voldemort’s eyes. They called him down to identify us, but the brave and stupid git lied and said he couldn’t be sure. And someone had the Sword of Gryffindor and then Bellatrix….”

  She stopped, words fading to a rattling breath ending in a sob. No one said anything. She fought at the panic rising in her throat, the itching of screams under her skin. Daphne grabbed her hands and held them firmly, and she was thankful that she couldn’t do more damage to the raw and itching skin at her throat. 

  “You guys,” she croaked, “You guys were here that year with the Carrows. You probably know what the Cruciatus feels like.”

  Ginny growled in anger. Blaise finally did gag and run to the bathroom, where they heard him retch painfully. Daphne went deathly pale. Neville’s spine straightened. When Blaise shakily made his way back to his chair, she swallowed.

  “She hit me with it so many times I lost count. She kept screaming about how it had been in her vault and how had I stolen it and I kept trying to tell her we’d found it and.…” She wiped at the tears on her lashes. "She just wouldn’t listen! She had Malfoy and his parents sit and watch and I kept pleading for her to stop and he did  _ nothing _ .”

  The last word was spat with such venom that everyone in the room flinched. After a moment, Hermione swept at her eyes and tugged at her collar, exposing the ugly purple puckered scar that ran from collarbone to shoulderblade.

  “She used a cursed knife to give me this.” Everyone recoiled. She nodded and let go of her shirt, letting the fabric cover it again.

  “The sick thing is, now that everything is said and done I don’t blame Malfoy. When she was doing that he did go and get Griphook the goblin, and it wasn’t his fault she was so deranged she wouldn’t listen to anything or anyone. And he redeemed himself at the battle when he gave Harry his wand.” She shifted in her seat, and Theo laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “He did more than me,” Theo murmured, and Hermione nodded.

  “He did what he could, and I don’t hate him. But seeing him...it makes it hard not to get sucked back in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter Wiki states Dirigible Plums are endemic to England, but somehow I felt them being an Eastern European plant made more sense. This chapter was written while listening to Dark Passenger by Daniela Andrade, and if you're a fan of dark singer-songwriter music or Dexter then do go give it a listen.
> 
> Recovery isn't linear, recovery from trauma less so. Sometimes it feels like you have gone past it, only for the ugliness to rear its head and swallow you again. At some points, you can deal with having the trigger near you and it's okay. Then there are times the trigger sends you spiraling and you drown in it. I want this story to really show that recovery looks different for everyone, and that Hermione's experience is very different from Luna's, which is different from Neville's, which is different from the Slytherins, whose recoveries are all different from each others'. Ostensibly, this is a story about recovery and human connection. While there's romance later on, the human connections we make while in recovery can take many forms and being someone who has been in recovery means I like to explore that dynamic. I promise the whole arc isn't like this, but the breakthroughs are not going to appear for a little while.
> 
> I'll continue this discussion in the next chapter, but this felt like a natural stopping point. See you next Sunday!


	11. She sniffed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole family has been sick for the past few weeks, throwing off my update schedule. I'll be posting tomorrow too and doing a regular chapter next Sunday and try to catch up. The three-parter may end up being a Christmas present for y'all!
> 
> I screwed up the formatting and couldn't fix it for some reason, hence the possible double email alert.

  Hermione looked up at the motley group of friends old and new that surrounded her. She’d just finished a good cry, Theo letting her lean on him while Ginny and Daphne sat, Daphne holding her arm as emotional support while Ginny rubbed Theo’s back hesitantly. Theo still had that flat look in his eyes, his mouth pressed in a thin line. She wiped at her eyes, and glanced over at Theo. 

  “What is it?”

  His lips went thinner, almost like he was holding his words back. Daphne placed her hand on his knee.

  “Theo, what happened?”

  He sighed, a rattling and shaky thing. Curling up tighter in the afghan, he rested his chin on his knees and stared into the fire.

  “Father got the Kiss today.”

  Daphne blanched and Neville swore. Ginny frowned and Theo scoffed.

  “I’m not sorry, the bastard can rot for all I care. I asked our elves to come here to Hogwarts until I figure out what I want to do with the estate.” He shifted his arms a little. “They practically raised me and tried to keep me safe in their own way.”

  Daphne cleared her throat. “Daddy can help you if you need. And I’m sure Blaise’s mom is always available to arrange your household for you.”

  Blaise nodded. Theo slid his feet to the ground and crossed his arms, the glowering look on his face losing its heat at the faintly outlandish sight of the Weasley afghan around his shoulders.

  “I don’t know why I said that, no one wants to know about my stupid problems…”

  “No, wait,” Luna interjected, “this might actually be a good thing.”

  She sat up and cleared everyone’s cups, her blue eyes lit up in a way they hadn’t been in a long time. “This might actually be a good thing for everyone. We should all come here regularly and talk things out with each other, I mean I barely know any of you lot….” Here she gestured to the Slytherins in the room.

  “I just think if we get together and talk about the shadows, we’re less likely to drown in them.” She placed the cups on a tea tray and set it aside. Hermione’s mind whirred with the idea.

  “That’s actually a really good idea.” She stood up, the afghan falling off her shoulders and pooling by Theo, who absently wrapped himself into a Theo-burrito with the excess. “We should do it, like a muggle group therapy session. I mean if the others see and want to join they can, but like we could make a commitment to come by here together once a week. Talk it out, yeah?”

  Blaise raised a brow. “You’d be okay with Draco joining us? After what you just admitted?”

  She brushed her hair from her face, frowning at the stickiness from her tears. She really needed to wash her face. “Yeah, why not? I think running from him is going to be stupid since I have to work with him for the Halloween formal regardless of my thoughts on him.”

  “So there is a formal?” Ginny sat up attentively. “You never answered me before this all happened.”

  “Yes,” Hermione said, rolling her neck. Ginny and Daphne both smiled.

  “We have to go dress shopping,” they both said together. Shocked, they both looked at each other before smiling and dissolving into laughter. Luna smiled at them, and Neville began to chuckle to himself. Blaise shook his head, snorting at the ridiculous situation while Theo gave a watery smile. Hermione felt the tightness in her chest lift, and she began to laugh along.

  She felt lighter, and felt that this was a step towards something good for not only her but everyone else this war had touched.

* * *

  Later, she sat in her dorm. Her hair was damp and twisted up in a large clip, her homework spread out on her bed. Daphne had gone to eat dinner with the others, but Hermione was completely drained after baring her soul to the room and she’d fallen asleep for a half hour before waking for a shower. She wasn’t worried; if she got hungry she could always grab a snack from her mother’s care package under her bed.

  It had been quiet for the better part of fifteen minutes, likely because everyone was still at dinner. She furrowed her brow at a particularly tricky rune translation when she heard it: the unmistakable sound of the guitarist playing again. She strained, unfamiliar with the tune but aware it sounded similar to a lot of traditional Irish and Scottish ballads.

  She wondered, not for the first time, who could be the mystery guitarist. She knew at least one of the eighth years had to be a player, as the prefect carriage had clearly given away. It was such a minor thing compared to everything else that had been going on that she hadn’t dedicated much time or thought to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guitar is based off this rendition of [Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzXswoAUi0U) from Seo Linn. I do so love traditional music. <3
> 
> See you tomorrow for the next chapter!


	12. Each day it gets harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late at night but I did manage to get it posted! Much thanks to my friend Emma, who lets me rant and word vomit about my writing. And thank you to my reviewers and subscribers for their excellent questions, insights, and support. You guys are the real heroes. <3

  She wasn’t looking forward to that night.

  She knew it was a part of her duty as a prefect, but it didn’t change the fact she’d be patrolling with Malfoy. After probably the biggest panic attack she’d had in a while at just the mention of an activity she’d be forced to do with him she dreaded actually seeing the man himself. As she got into her school robes, straightening her skirt and making sure her shirt was tucked in properly, she wondered (not for the first time) if this wasn’t a huge mistake.

  She sighed at her reflection. She thought that being back would be a relief, a respite before the challenges of adulthood. She hadn’t expected to be surrounded by reminders, surrounded by memories. Maybe Harry and Ron had had the right idea….

  At this, she shook her head and banished the thought. She’d been offered to waive her NEWT scores by the Ministry but she knew that she didn’t want to take advantage of her newfound fame, that she wanted to earn her place. Call her a bossy know-it-all swot, but she was unendingly fair and her own sense of justice bristled at the thought that she took advantage of an option no one else outside her and the boys had.

_   No _ , she thought. She hadn’t made a mistake. As unpleasant as it was, she’d made her decision to come back and she would deal with having to be around Malfoy if it meant she was doing things properly. Her principles had never steered her wrong, and as she pinned her prefect badge onto her cloak she firmly pushed her mind away from any doubts. She’d made her choice and she’d stick to it.

* * *

  She and Malfoy were silent as they walked their way through the patrol, the awkward silence like a physical object dragging between them. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping, deep purple bruises under his eyes and a dullness about him. His hair was lank and lifeless, his eyes flat. It was similar enough to how he’d looked in sixth year that it actually made her uncomfortable.

  “How are your parents?”

  She noticed him twitch and mentally kicked herself.  _ Way to stick your foot in your mouth. _

  “They’re…” he cleared his throat. “They’re coping as well as to be expected. Father is under house arrest. Mother tries to keep acting like normal, but none of her friends are talking to her for obvious reasons.”

  She knew. Lying to Voldemort’s snakey face had probably cost her a lot of her pureblood friends.

  “But you know,” he continued, “it could have been much worse. Father has no wand and that’s been hard, but he could have ended up in Azkaban again. Mother could have died. I could have gone to Azkaban. We’re lucky.”

  She nodded. “Yes, very lucky.”

  She meant it too.

  “When did you want to meet to plan the formal?”

  She looked at him askance. “You actually want to help?”

  He smirked and looked somewhat like the boy he’d been, for the first time in a long while. “Of course. Malfoys are the best at planning occasions.”

  She snorted. “Well when are you free?”

  “Whenever.” He studied his perfectly manicured nails. “When do you have a free period?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short again, but it's very late here and I wanted to start the arc in full motion. Thank you everyone for your kudos and comments! See y'all Sunday. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter titles are the first sentence of the chapter, so don't skip it.


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